


don't wanna lie here (but you can learn to)

by suchanidiot (PortalofWords)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Catra (She-Ra)-centric, Catra Needs A Hug, F/F, adora helps her fall asleep what about it, catra can't sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24790984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PortalofWords/pseuds/suchanidiot
Summary: “go to bed, dummy.”“not until you do.”orthe five times catra couldn't sleep and the one time she could.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 236





	don't wanna lie here (but you can learn to)

**Author's Note:**

> hi all!  
> i made a new pseud and everything for this work wow. i've been writing another ship for almost four years and decided to switch things up :) enjoy this little piece that came out of my all consuming love for this show, a dumb jock lesbian, and her cat girlfriend. 
> 
> slight trigger warnings for anxiety/post-trauma nightmares + horde prime possession/control. oh, and the general "catra pushes everyone away by being mean to them" 
> 
> also thank you to @subtlyhaught for beta'ing this fic!
> 
> enjoy :)

Catra doesn’t let anyone know she’s awake. 

She and Adora have gotten particularly good at feigning sleep - just in case a Force Captain decides to pass through their barracks on nightly rounds. She’s better at faking than Adora, though, and tonight’s no different; the other girl is wriggling a little bit beside her, still vibrating with stifled laughter.

Risking a bit of movement, Catra shifts her tail a fraction of an inch to drape it across Adora’s little leg under the blanket. It works a little. Adora stills, which lets Catra perk up her ears to listen for footsteps. Keeping her breathing steady, she waits. Hopefully the Force Captain passes by without looking at them too closely, since technically they’re supposed to be in separate bunks.

She and Adora have been sharing a bed for as long as she can remember, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t expecting someone to eventually put a stop to it. That sort of thing is frowned upon in the Horde. Cadets - even young ones - sleep in their own bunks. Do their own chores. Eat their own meals. There are strict rules, and it’s up to everyone to follow them without incident. 

Except Catra doesn’t view sharing with Adora as _breaking_ those rules necessarily, just… amending them. Things are better with Adora around anyway. 

It’s only when her heart begins to beat in her ears and the familiar darkness starts to creep up behind her eyelids that Catra realizes it’s not a Force Captain passing through at all. 

“Adora.” Shadow Weaver’s voice isn’t loud, but somehow it still reverberates down Catra’s spine. “Come with me.” 

Catra still doesn’t open her eyes, but now, it’s less of a choice. Something - some force, some deep-rooted pulling - is stopping her, but whether it’s her own stupid thoughts or Shadow Weaver herself, she can’t be sure. 

She feels Adora unhook her leg from her tail and slide away, the bed shifting slightly as she no doubt pushes up to a sitting position. 

“Shadow Weaver?” Adora asks quietly, and Catra can already picture Adora’s wide eyes and messy hair that she absolutely refuses to take out of her small ponytail - even for bed. Her lips are probably slightly parted, revealing that gap from her missing tooth. She’s easy to read. That’s just the way she’s always been. 

If Shadow Weaver had chosen to wake Catra up tonight, Catra decides she would’ve added some extra scratchiness to her voice - something to signify that she’d been roused from a deep sleep. But she quickly stops herself from pursuing the thought any further. Shadow Weaver will never choose her when Adora is right there. That’s just the way it is. 

“What’s wrong?” Adora sounds a little worried, and for a moment, Catra considers blowing her own cover to hiss at Shadow Weaver or something. That’s at least something she’s good at. 

“I heard you did particularly well in this morning’s training.” 

“I - I did okay,” Adora answers slowly. “Lonnie and Catra -” 

“I didn’t ask about Lonnie or _Catra_.” Shadow Weaver’s voice rises like she might snap, but of course, because it’s Adora, the tension fades after a moment. “I asked about you. Do you know what tonight is?” 

Once again, Catra can perfectly picture Adora’s expression - face screwed up and tongue sticking out like it sometimes does when she thinks extra hard. Catra likes to poke her whenever she does it, just to see what other weird faces she can make. 

Apparently, Shadow Weaver doesn’t share that same interest, because after a few seconds of silence, she answers her own question. “It’s the Force Captain Evening Briefing. I would like you to sit in on it with me.” 

There’s no real reason for Shadow Weaver to explain all this to Adora in the barracks and not out in the hallway, which means Shadow Weaver doesn’t care if the other cadets overhear. After all, the bunks are close together, and she’s not even attempting to keep her voice down. Shadow Weaver wants them all to know that she’s chosen Adora over everyone else. Especially Catra. 

Catra decides she’s not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s awake. 

Already, she can feel Adora eagerly wiggling the rest of the way out from under the blankets, half of the warmth gone from the bed as soon as her feet hit the floor. She listens as Adora’s sock feet slap the floor, hears her pad contentedly after Shadow Weaver, leaving Catra very awake in the bottom bunk - all alone. 

Only after the barack doors slide shut does Catra open one eye, and then slowly, the other. Irritated, she pushes the rest of the blankets away, letting the rush of cold air envelop her legs. 

Adora is Shadow Weaver’s favorite. This isn’t news. Adora is everyone’s favorite. So why is it bothering her tonight? 

A low growl rumbles in her throat when she thinks of everyone doting on Adora, patting her hair or complimenting her technique in Beginning Weapons. If everyone makes Adora feel special, then what’s Catra even there for? That would mean… that Adora doesn’t need her. 

Rolling over on her side, Catra’s gaze falls on the little picture she and Adora gleefully etched into the side of their bunk just a few nights ago. 

_“You’re my best friend, Catra,”_ Adora had whispered earnestly. 

Catra frowns, narrowing her eyes at the hand-drawn outline of herself. It’s right next to the Adora one, fangs bared and hair spiking out in all directions. Tough. Scary. Important. Catra suddenly wishes she could switch places with her drawing. That growling face would show Shadow Weaver. It would show everyone. 

It feels like Adora is gone for centuries, but in reality, Catra knows it can’t be more than an hour or two. As Adora scrambles back up into bed, her face is aglow with whatever she saw during the dumb meeting. 

Through the tiniest of cracked eyelids, Catra watches her glance over, sees Adora wait expectantly for her to sit up, to ask her how it was, but Catra can’t bring herself to do it. 

“Hey,” Adora finally whispers, sounding only slightly disappointed. “Why did you kick the blankets off?” 

Catra doesn’t answer, lying stiller than a statue. 

“Catra.” A finger comes to poke her side. “Catra, wake up.” 

A hiss. 

“Catra!” 

Someone on the other side of the room shushes them loudly, grumbling about little kids. In response, Catra hisses again - louder. She’s small, sure, but she’s not little. She doesn’t like that word. It sounds stupid. 

“It’s okay.” Adora pats Catra’s head comfortingly. “Just ignore them.” She drapes the missing blanket back over their bodies. “Here. You must’ve pushed this off in your sleep.” 

Catra hates it. She hates that Adora is being so nice after she ignored her and hissed at her. She should be mean back. It would make it much easier for Catra to be mad at her. 

As if to echo her thoughts, Adora frowns. “Don’t be mad. The meeting wasn’t that fun anway.” 

It’s a lie, and Catra knows it. She can’t tell if it makes her feel better or worse. 

“It would’ve been way better with you,” Adora continues, settling down and curling in beside her. “Next time, I’m dragging you along with me.” 

Dragging. She says it like Catra chose to stay behind. Like she elected to skip the meeting, rather than being obviously uninvited. But Catra forces herself to smile a little, shrugging. 

“Whatever. I was tired anyway.” 

She’s still lying. 

The answer seems to satisfy Adora, though, because she smiles and comes closer, bringing her hand up to pet Catra’s hair sleepily. In a few minutes, she’ll be asleep. 

Apparently, that’s another privilege only one of them will get tonight.

***

Catra knows Adora isn’t coming home. 

It’s not because Adora said it a hundred times - she’s said plenty of stupid things before. It was look in her eyes at Thaymor. It was the way she pulled away from Catra’s pleas. It was the way a new princess - with glowing hair and eyes, yes - but also with _her_ expression, _her_ determination, the purse of _her_ lips, had shown up and decimated their ground troops. 

She hadn’t needed to wait and see Adora transform back into herself to know the truth then. 

It also means Adora has magic now. Maybe she’s always had it and just never told her. Figures. 

Catra’s feet pad along the cold corridor floors of the Fright Zone, and her skin crawls with an unidentifiable itch. She finds herself looking over her shoulder and peering into the shadowy places among the pipes as she goes, always checking, always scanning. 

She mulls over this behavior for a while, pausing when she stumbles upon an unsettling realization. 

She’s exposed. 

Adora broke her promise. 

And now she’s got no one left to watch her back. 

Hissing to herself, Catra breaks into a run, leaping from pipe to floor and back to pipe. She doesn’t like this. She hates the way the corners seem to stare at her, laugh at her. She just wants to claw it all away, to wipe it out, to push it down. 

“Catra -” someone, maybe Lonnie, is standing with a group of cadets outside the locker room, but Catra shoves her away. She can hear the crash behind her as she runs and knows the push must’ve sent Lonnie to the ground. 

_Good_. 

Rounding another corner, she finally realizes where she’s heading; it’s the same place her feet always seem to find when she’s upset or angry or just tired of looking at everyone’s faces.

The rusty metal scrap groans under her feet as she scales the side of the structure with practiced ease, coming to rest on the very edge of its jutted out platform - high above the Fright Zone and its unpleasantness. 

She surveys the whole barren landscape, trying not to think about all the times she and Adora used to do the same together, fantasizing about what it would be like when they finally were in charge.

“Stupid,” Catra grumbles, flicking her tail agitatidly. “It’s so _stupid_.” 

The wind only howls in response, squeezing between spikes of metal and old machinery pieces littered far below. 

A sharp pain in her hand reminds her of the object concealed tightly in her fist. Carefully, she uncurls it and examines the Force Captain seal glinting in the center of her palm. She’s imagined this moment hundreds of times - always in private and never out loud - but somehow, it still feels wrong. 

The Force Captain badge has always been Adora’s future. Everyone said so, even when they were kids. And only days ago, they’d been right. Catra vividly remembers climbing up to this same little perch, holding this same little pin. Adora had been so happy, so delighted with her promotion. And then, just like that, she’d forgotten all about it. 

“So much for your perfect cadet, Shadow Weaver,” Catra tells the wind bitterly. Adora might’ve taken the whole thing for granted, but Catra won’t. 

Tonight, Hordak gave _her_ the promotion. 

Hordak chose _her_. 

And she’s not going to let him down. 

Judging from the color of the sky, she’s already missed dinner. Soon, it will be time for Lights Out. But Catra has no intention of moving - at least not yet. She just curls her knees in and wraps her tail around herself in a pitiful attempt to find some protection. 

For an indulgent moment, she lets herself squint out past the Fright Zone and wonder where Adora is at the moment. Probably holed up somewhere with those Bright Moon jerks. 

What do they have to offer that she doesn’t? 

Sparkles, probably. 

_“Who cares!”_ Catra pulls at her hair in frustration. She doesn’t need Adora. She’s never needed Adora. Sure, it’s nice to have someone on her side when Shadow Weaver starts being her usual horrible self, but it’s not necessary. She can still rise through the ranks on her own. She can still take over the Fright Zone, surpass Shadow Weaver, even Hordak, without anyone’s help. She can watch her own back. 

Maybe then, once she sees how successful, how powerful Catra has become, Adora will change her mind. Maybe she’ll come home and rule beside her, just like they’ve always wanted. 

“ _Stop_!” Catra knows she sounds crazy, talking to herself - yelling at herself - but she wants those thoughts gone. She won’t be doing this for Adora; she’ll do it for herself. Already she can see the look on Adora’s face when she comes charging into Bright Moon, leading the most successful squadron in Horde History. 

She liked driving the tank today. Catra could sit there again, safe and in-charge, deep in the belly of the machine, and ram it right into Princess Sparkles’ castle. That would be quite an entrance, wouldn’t it? 

She’d step out of the tank to receive the surrender, of course, and grab Adora, throw her in the tank, drive home and they would rule -

She stops herself again, her eyes widening in alarm. 

No. All her plans are not going to end in ruling the Fright Zone with Adora. That dream is dead now - and it was a bad one to begin with. Unrealistic. A single ruler could keep far more power on her own than if she shared it with another. 

Caring about people makes them weak. Catra knows this better than anyone. 

So, sitting up high on the scrap heap, watching the Fright Zone go dark for the night, she decides she won’t care about anyone ever again. It’s the only way to make sure she never feels like this for the rest of her life. 

And maybe it’s the only way to make sure she’s never stupid enough to chase after Adora. 

Sleep is the last thing on her mind as she rests her chin on her knees, her breathing returning to normal at last. 

Funny, she hadn’t noticed that it sped up in the first place. 

She tells herself she likes the fresh air. That she doesn’t feel like climbing down and getting an earful from Lonnie about pushing her. But mostly, Catra is stalling. She doesn’t want to go back to the barracks. She doesn’t want to walk through those doors and climb into that empty bunk now that she knows it will never really feel comfortable again. 

Curling her lip, she scoffs in the direction of Bright Moon, spitefully hoping the beds over there are as stiff and useless as the rebels who sleep in them. 

She shouldn’t have to be the only one staying awake tonight. 

3\. 

She’s lost count of the nail marks. 

When Hordak first threw her in this cell, Catra resolved to count every single tally Shadow Weaver left on the walls. But now that she’s fifty-two marks in - or maybe fifty-three? - her determination is beginning to waver. 

She also doesn’t remember Shadow Weaver being locked up for fifty days. Maybe the nail marks don’t represent days at all - or maybe the old lady is as crazy as she is evil. 

Lowering her gaze to the green glowing shackles around her hands, Catra tries - not for the first time - to wriggle out of them. Their buzzing is growing increasingly irritating, and she’s not a big fan of being restrained. 

How dare Shadow Weaver leave? Did she stop to think what would happen to Catra? Did it even cross her mind that she might be thrown in this cell as her replacement? Or maybe she did and just didn’t care? 

Catra’s face twists in a grim smile. Of course her own fate hasn’t given Shadow Weaver any pause. She’s gone. And now Catra’s stuck in her place. Chained up. Bound to whatever guaranteed-to-be-awful punishment Hordak is no doubt planning at this very moment. 

She tries to think back, to find the place where she went wrong - a single moment she can pinpoint where her plans went to shit. But the pieces just don’t fit. Nothing adds up. 

Because Catra has done everything right. She’s climbed the ranks. She’s done her job well. She’s accomplished everything Adora could have and more. She’s surpassed even Shadow Weaver’s authority! 

And yet, here she is. In chains. Awaiting punishment. 

And why does Adora get to keep coming out on top? Why does Adora get to walk away unharmed, with her new best friends and glowing hair? Why does Shadow Weaver continue to pick a defector, a traitor, a _failure_ , over her? 

She would’ve stayed for Adora. 

Catra kicks out with her back foot and pushes away the tray someone delivered to her earlier. She’s not that hungry anyway - and certainly not for brown ration bars. 

The tray makes a satisfying clatter as it skids across the floor, and Catra bares her teeth in a halfway smile. If she’s going down, she’s going to go down fighting. She’ll make it as difficult and as painful for Hordak as she can - right until the very end. 

Glancing out past her cell’s forcefield, Catra scans the platforms circling higher and higher above her. A pair of glowing blue eyes blink back at her from across the way, and Catra suddenly stops smiling. Her blood runs hot as she stares, trying to make sense of what she’s seeing.

She’s here. Adora is here. But _why_? 

To taunt her? 

To laugh at her for ending up behind bars? 

To finish her off? 

Maybe that’s her punishment. Maybe Hordak has summoned She-Ra to deliver the final blow. 

Well, she won’t let it happen. Catra would rather die at anyone else’s hand than a princess who uses people just like Shadow Weaver. Maybe that’s why Shadow Weaver has always liked her better. 

Catra paces quickly, her heart thundering in her ears. She needs to think. She needs to do something. 

Until she squints back out at the eyes and realizes that they’re not eyes at all, only blinking blue lights on a security bot rolling down an upper level floor. 

Catra breathes heavily, shaking in frustration. She can’t afford to lose her edge like that. Adora - real or pretend - shouldn’t be able to get a rise out of her. She won't give her that satisfaction. 

Edging closer to the force field, Catra forces herself to resume normal breathing. She-Ra is back in Bright Moon. No one is here. In fact, besides a handful of guards and the unfortunate blinking-blue bot, she thinks everyone else is in bed. The hallways of the Horde always have a different, slightly otherworldly feel at night, and even from her position, she can tell it’s getting late. 

Unsurprisingly, Catra’s not at all tired. She’ll have time to rest when she’s dead. 

And lucky for her, there’s a good chance that will be tomorrow. 

***

Catra isn’t tired. 

She isn’t much of anything at the moment. 

But no, she amends. She’s focused. She’s driven. She’s days away from defeating the princesses, Etheria, the rebellion, and Adora. Everything she’s ever wanted is within her reach. 

She’s days away from _winning_. 

And that means, she doesn’t have time to waste sleeping. Or eating. Or doing anything but planning and ordering and studying. 

“I told you to push that line forward,” she barks into her communicator, eyeing the wavering little dots on the trackpad. “What’s the delay?” 

There’s static for a moment, and then - 

“Our forces are depleted out here,” one of the Force Captains pleads. “A new line of rebel defenses just showed up - with a princess. Maybe two. We need to fall back and -” 

“No!” Catra doesn’t want to hear the word “back.” Only forward. Only victory. Only total domination. “I said…” she continues slowly, gratingly, to make sure they hear every word and feel her frustration at having to repeat them over and over again. “Push the lines… _forward_. One princess is nothing. You can all rest when I - when we - win.” 

She stands in the center of the control room, glaring as the communicator screen flickers and goes dark. This is all going according to her plan. She’s making this happen. She’s going to be the reason the Horde wins once and for all. 

“Hey, Catra!” 

She turns on her heel, bristling at the sudden intrusion. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.” 

Scorpia’s pincers clink together as she holds them awkwardly in front of her body. She’s wearing that dumb expression she always gets whenever she’s about to say something irritatingly supportive. 

As if to prove her point, Scorpia ducks her head and says, “Oh, I know. It was very ‘I’m In Charge’ of you. You’ve been working… so hard lately.” 

“And?” Catra doesn’t have time for this. Scorpia has other jobs to do - probably one of the meaningless tasks she can’t possibly mess up - and Catra has a rebellion to crush. “Do you have a point to all this, or did you just come in here to bother me?” 

“I thought you could use - uh -” Scorpia reaches behind her and pulls out a blanket and pillow. “These. I got them off your bed. I mean, you’ve been holed up in here for days, and I don’t know if you’re sleeping, but I hope you are. So I just figured -” 

“You interrupted to bring me bedding?” Catra’s just about had it with Scorpia. 

“Well -” 

“Get out!” Catra points to the floor, her fur practically standing on end with anger. “No, _put those down!_ Start being useful. Go help Kyle unload the transport downstairs because _he’s bound to do it wrong_!” 

She turns her back on Scorpia then, only glancing over her shoulder once the doors slide shut again. Finally. 

A pillow, of all things. What Catra needs is news of another rebel stronghold toppled, not a pillow. The idea is so laughable that Catra actually walks over to the heap on the floor and examines the items. 

They’re just a standard issue set, the same ones given to all the cadets, but for some reason they trigger a memory for her. 

A scratched through drawing.

Ripped up blankets. 

Shreds of fabric clinging to her claws and floating down to the floor. 

Anger. Frustration. Panic. _Hurt_.

All because of Adora. 

Catra grits her teeth, trying to shove the memory away. That’s all in the past. She’s going to make Adora pay by winning the war, not by standing around and wallowing over old shredded blankets. 

In order to regain control, Catra forces herself to picture a different scene: a much, much richer one. 

She’s standing in the middle of the battle field, her foot on Adora’s neck - no! Holding Adora’s own sword to her neck, watching those stupid glowing eyes stare back into hers. She’ll have Etheria on its knees, and Adora at her feet. 

_Look around, Adora_ , she’ll say, gesturing to the beautiful, barren world she created. _Isn’t this everything we’ve ever wanted?_

And then she’ll destroy her. 

The thought actually makes her lips curl up at the corners - more of a grimace, than a smile, really - and she lets the promise of that future calm her enough to return to the planning table. 

Scorpia was definitely wrong. Catra doesn’t need sleep. 

She needs this. She needs to say those words to Adora and watch her friends cry and the world crumble. 

She needs to win. 

  
  


***

The clones are chanting again. 

At least, Catra thinks they are. 

Maybe it’s all in her head. 

Everything seems to be in her head now. 

She gasps, pulling herself back into full consciousness for just a moment. Whereas a moment ago everything seemed hazy and slanted, now the world is thrown into sharp relief. 

Catra squints, an uncharacteristic sound bubbling up in her throat as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Her neck aches and buzzes, like she’s just been shocked with ten of those electric green stun-batons back at the Fright Zone. 

The Fright Zone.

The Horde. 

Catra whines for a second, pressing her hand to the back of her neck. Her mind feels… occupied. Like she’s no longer the only one in charge. 

_Little sister_ , it coaxes. _You have been purged of your pain. You need not dwell on it anymore._

“Get - out -” Catra tries to draw a better breath, wondering why she can’t seem to stop walking. Where is she going? Why is she listening to -

_Do not try and fight it_ , Horde Prime urges, and Catra wants nothing more than to go limp. To give into whatever is snapping and sparking in her neck and let someone else take control. _You are at peace now. Pure. You have been remade._

Catra nods. She’s got nothing else going for her anyway. Nobody to return to. No one on Etheria or anywhere else in this stupid universe. 

Her Horde team hates her. 

Scorpia left her.

And Adora… 

_So much pain_. Horde Prime is in her thoughts. He can see her. He can hear her. _No one to miss you. But do not worry, little sister, they will all have a chance at peace, just as you did. Prime will show them mercy._

Adora… Adora is safe, but Catra struggles to remember why.

She saved Glimmer. She told Adora to stay away. She warned her about Prime’s - 

_A grave disappointment_ , Prime sighs, and Catra shuts her eyes again - trying to push him out. _I had such high hopes for you. But it was only a slight setback. She may still come for you yet._

She can’t feel her legs. She can’t feel anything. The haze is coming back, trying to slide back across her vision. 

“N-no,” she chokes out. “Adora… doesn’t care about me. You - you lost. You won’t get her.” 

Prime seems to consider this, and her whole head vibrates with his laughter. Catra’s hands hit the floor as her knees give out. 

_Oh, little sister_. Prime is much louder now - his voice practically echoing down the corridor. No, it is echoing down the corridor; his voice is here. It’s in her mouth and her mind now, speaking through her. 

The haze has almost completely returned, the last of her strength slipping away. 

“Haven’t you learned by now?” she hears her own voice purr. “Prime sees all. Your Adora is on her way to me.” 

The ground is cool against her cheek, and Catra thinks it wouldn’t be so bad to just lie here forever. 

A ship flashes in front of her eyes, and somehow, she knows it’s Adora’s. Just like she knows it’s headed towards Horde Prime instead of Etheria. 

What is Adora doing? Why can’t she listen for once in her life? Her friends are safe. She has Glimmer, assuming she got to the coordinates in time. It doesn’t make sense for her to head towards Prime. 

Unless she’s decided to come defeat him in some heroically stupid quest.

Catra groans softly, still unable to pick herself up off the floor. 

Someone else can defeat Prime; it doesn’t have to be her; _why does it always have to be her?_ Is there no one else on Etheria - in the entire galaxy - that can take over once and awhile? 

It’s exhausting to watch. 

_You’re hoping she’s coming for you_ , Prime simpers coldly. _Isn’t that right?_

She wants him out of her head. She wants him to stop reading her thoughts, to stop knowing her. Maybe if her body didn’t ache so much, maybe if she could feel her legs, maybe if she wasn’t sure she was about to die, Catra might’ve found the strength to refute his words. She and Adora aren’t friends anymore. She’s been trying to kill Adora, her friends, their world, for a long, long time. 

But she’s tired. And she’s trapped. And she can feel the little metal chip they’ve put into her back growing hotter. So as Catra feels her small ounce of control dissipating again, she just nods and hopes against all hope that Adora isn’t stupid enough to still care about her. 

***

She’s tired of closing her eyes and seeing green. 

Catra sits at the edge of the bed, swinging her legs and curling her arms around her stomach. She’s not used to having such a spacious room all to herself. 

Well, not _entirely_ to herself. 

Because lying with her head on the pillow, with a fist full of pink blankets clutched tightly in her hand, is Adora. 

It’s not the first time Catra has admired her while she slept recently, but it is the first time she’s done it without making plans to leave at the same time. Mostly. 

Catra wonders what would happen if she just left. Surely, the people of Bright Moon can’t forgive her for what she’s done. If she was still just a Horde cadet, maybe, but she’s not. She ordered the attacks that decimated rebel towns and homes. She led the troops into these peoples villages and kingdoms. She’s… not someone most people will just welcome into their world with open arms. 

Sliding carefully out of bed, Catra walks over to the window and stares out. The Moonstone casts a silver glow over everything, bathing it in quiet radiance. She has to catch her breath a little bit at the sight. Bright Moon certainly makes the Fright Zone look like a nightmare. 

Which is kind of was. 

She imagines Adora on her first night here, still teetering from the unsteady weight of her new shiny sword and probably a little bruised from the events that went down in Thaymor, standing at this same window. For the first time, Catra sort of understands why she’d wanted to stay. Why the beauty and stillness of Bright Moon drew her away from the harsh, rusty darkness of the Horde and everything it had to offer. 

“Catra?” 

Catra freezes, just like she used to when Shadow Weaver would catch her and Adora playing together after training when they were young. But it’s not Shadow Weaver. Shadow Weaver… is dead. Gone. Reduced to nothing but her broken mask on the floor. 

She turns to see Adora rubbing her eyes sleepily, watching her. 

“Hi.” 

Adora waves a little, yawning. “Is everything alright?” 

Catra shrugs, her tail flicking for a moment. “Everything’s fine.” 

Adora looks unconvinced, even rolling her eyes. “You know that line doesn’t work on me, right?” 

Groaning, Catra folds her arms defensively. “You’re really pushy, you know that?” 

“I just asked you what was wrong!” Adora meets her gaze, unwilling to let her mull things over in peace. “There’s a reason you got out of bed.”

“I’m just -” Catra forces herself to not snap. It’s not Adora’s fault. “I’m thinking.” 

“About leaving?” 

Despite their time spent apart, despite their taking opposite sides in the war, despite everything that’s happened between them, somehow Adora still knows how to read her like a book. It leaves Catra feeling a tiny bit naked, and she curls her arms in tighter. 

“No!” She swallows hard. “Yes. Maybe.” 

“Catra…” 

“Don't.” Catra shakes her head, staying by the window as if it might actually provide some sort of escape. “You don’t get to say that. You fought for the right side. You won. People actually like you -” 

“You fought for the right side, too,” Adora tries to tell her, crawling forward on the bed. “In the end. And that’s what matters. You saved the queen. You saved me. You saved Etheria! And you’re trying, Catra. That’s all anyone’s asking.” 

The way Adora describes it, people might think Catra was a wayward hero tricked into fighting for the Horde, only to realize her full potential and leap into action - fully committed to her new role as one of Etheria’s saviors. 

“That’s not what happened.” Catra looks down at the ground, studying it hard. “I didn’t - I didn’t save Sparkles because she was the queen. I saved her because, I dunno, because you would’ve come to get her if I hadn’t. And I didn’t save Etheria - you did. I tried to leave. I didn’t… I’m not a hero. Not like you and your stupid friends.” 

“You didn’t think they were stupid today.” Adora is being very patient with her, which almost makes it worse. 

“Will you stop making everything so difficult?” 

Surprisingly, Adora actually smiles a little bit. “No. I think that’s my job.” 

Catra turns back towards the window, thinking about how much easier it would be to drift away, to settle in some far off kingdom where no one would look at her or question her or tell her _how far she’s come._

“Come back to bed, Catra,” Adora pleads gently. “Talk to me. Don’t run away from this.” 

“ _No_.” Catra turns, raising a hand. “You do _not_ get to say that to me.” 

Adora chews on her lip some, a strand of hair falling into her face. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” 

“Go back to bed.” Catra doesn’t feel like talking anymore. “Sorry I interrupted your precious beauty sleep.” 

Adora sighs a little. “I know… a lot has happened. And I know it’s not easy for you to sleep since you - since Prime -” 

“It hasn’t been easy for me to sleep since you abandoned me and left me to deal with Shadow Weaver and Hordak and… everything all alone!” Catra hadn’t meant to say it, but she’s not exactly sorry she did. It does shut Adora up. 

But only for a few moments. “That’s not fair,” Adora argues. “You could’ve left, too. I wanted you to join me! But you didn’t. And I didn’t make you do everything you did. You can’t put that on me.” 

“I know, I know.” Catra sighs. “I didn’t - forget it.” 

A hand finds its way into hers, and Catra flinches for a moment before realizing Adora has come to join her at the window. 

“What are you doing?” Catra eyes her, trying to find a motivation. She’s clearly tired, and Catra hasn’t exactly been the easiest to deal with since she woke up.

“If you’re not going to sleep,” Adora smiles thinly. “Then, I’ll wait with you.” 

“You always do this, you know.” Catra shakes her head. “Skipping dinner. Stealing a skiff. Staying awake. Don’t you… resent me for it?” 

Adora thinks for a moment. “No,” she decides at last. “I don’t. I do it _for_ you, not _because_ of you.” She goes quiet again, following Catra’s gaze outside to the moonstone-lit world. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? I couldn’t get enough of this view when I first got here.” 

“I knew it.” 

“Yeah.” Adora actually laughs a little. “It was my first time sleeping alone in like… forever. I wasn’t used to it.” 

“So.” Catra tries to pretend she’s not as curious as she is. Adora’s Bright Moon life is still so unfamiliar to her. “What did you do about it? The not sleeping thing, I mean.” 

Adora makes a face. “I don’t think you wanna know.” 

“You went and slept with Sparkles, didn’t you?” Catra doesn’t even need her to confirm it. She just knows it’s true by the look on Adora’s face. Elbowing her, she sighs. “You’re lucky I’m not the jealous type.” 

“Except that you’re absolutely the jealous type.” Adora elbows her right back. “Relax. You don’t need to worry. It wasn’t Glimmer’s kiss that saved the universe, was it?” 

Catra exahles softly, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You’re really never gonna let that go, are you?” 

“Probably not.” 

“You meant it, right? What you told me down there?” Catra is suddenly overwhelmed with the paralyzing fear that Adora hadn’t meant what she’d said in the Heart Chamber. That she’d been lying. That, somehow, Catra had manipulated -

“Hey.” A squeeze from Adora’s hand brings her back. “I meant it. I do.. love you.”

And Catra finally lets herself melt into Adora, lets herself wrap her arms around Adora’s waist and watch the stars sparkle and wink in the night sky. She wants to stay right here forever, in Adora’s embrace, safe and warm. 

She’d saved Adora. The thought doesn’t even seem real. After years of Adora protecting her from Shadow Weaver, defending her in front of the other kids, Catra finally made good on her end of the promise. About time. 

“You know,” she says sleepily. “I kinda _did_ save your ass, didn’t I?” 

Adora’s laugh warms her whole body. “Yeah. You kinda did.” 

Standing there, Catra’s eyelids begin to get heavier, and she even has to stifle a few yawns now and again. When her head drops onto Adora’s shoulder, nose burying into her neck, she finally mumbles, “We can go back to bed, I guess.” 

She’s still not totally used to the way the Bright Moon beds bend and fold when she lies on them, but Catra lets Adora arrange the blankets and pillows anyway before climbing up beside her. As long as Adora’s here, it could be their bunk at the Fright Zone. They could be small again, giggling and wrapped up in each other. Everything could be simple.

“You’re so stupid, you know that?” Catra whispers as her eyes flutter closed. “So… so stupid. You and your shiny hair.” 

“I know.” Adora’s breathing slows, but she keeps her hand stubbornly in Catra’s shorn hair, stroking it the way she used to. It sends warmth down Catra’s spine, right through the scar on her neck where Prime’s chip used to be. 

“Go to bed, dummy.” 

“Not until you do.” 

There she goes again. Putting Catra first. It’s enough to make her cheeks burn, and she pushes away, hiding her face in the cool pillow for a moment. 

But now she doesn’t have Adora’s hand in her hair or Adora’s leg wrapped around hers and she _misses_ it. So, swallowing her pride, Catra inches back over and repositions herself beside her. 

“Sorry.” 

“You?” Adora gasps, almost mockingly. “Apologizing?” 

“Shut up!” Catra hits her with a spare pillow. “I’m trying to be serious! I’m trying - to not push you away, okay?” 

“Oh,” Adora raises an eyebrow. “You mean, how you just physically pushed me -” 

“Yes, yes. I’m not gonna do it anymore.” Catra grabs Adora’s hand and places it back on her head. “Keep doing that, though.” And then as an afterthought - “Please.” 

The bed shakes a little with Adora’s quiet laughter, her hand resuming its previous petting motions. Catra’s eyes fall shut again and a purr rises in her chest before she can stop it. 

Just before she drifts off, she manages to get a few words out. “It was always you, Adora.” 

And she’s not sure, but she thinks Adora might’ve kissed her. 

When the daylight comes, soft and golden and warm, for once Catra isn’t there to watch it arrive. She just curls into Adora, their chests rising and falling in sync. 

Later, she’ll groan and push Adora’s arm off with a laugh and complain about being crushed all night. Later, she’ll kiss Adora’s cheek and lips and neck. Later, she’ll flick Adora’s nose with her tail and run when she chases her with her sword. 

But for now, she’s content to just lie here. 

Safe. 

Sound. 

Asleep. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! all comments and kudos are appreciated!


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